


The Gambler Understands

by MagicalStranger13



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStranger13/pseuds/MagicalStranger13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Physiology and cultures might be different, but love is the equalizer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gambler Understands

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, 100 hits on my last story already? I might need to extend it to 150. Anyway, just getting my feet wet in some slightly NSFW territory for Butterfly Bog. Smuttier stuff will eventually follow. 
> 
> Inspired by 'the bite' in the lovely suzie-guru's story 'Well Met By Moonlight' and the fabulous humanityinahandbag's tubmlr post: Because Bog is Bigger than Marianne and Cannot Sit Idly By and Ignore this Fact

It was an accident.  You don’t _plan_ for something like this to happen.

They’d been out exploring the Dark Forest again, when an unexpected cloud burst had them needing to seek shelter in a hollowed out tree.

Bog had torn the moss from the bark and made a little bed for them to relax in. 

As they’d watched the rain, they got to talking.

Talking turned to teasing.

Teasing turned to roughhousing.

Roughhousing turned to…something far more _heated_.

They were nowhere near ready to go all the way yet, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t keep their hands off each other regardless. 

Marianne loved their make-out sessions almost as much as she loved their sparring matches. 

…

Okay, maybe it was pretty even.

Relatively speaking, it had all been rather tame.  Not even a stitch of her clothing had been removed.  Nothing but hot, heavy kisses, deep moans and lustful caresses. 

It was going pleasurably well, until…

She had triggered something in him.  Something _primal_. 

It had only taken a fraction of a second; when she had simultaneously suckled his earlobe with a hungry purr, scratched her nails down his spine, and sensuously rolled her hips against his groin. 

All of the sudden, Bog had let out a roar that shook the walls around them and pinned her arms out to her sides.  His wings flared and he buried his face against her neck with such force, her head was now trapped between him and the nest of moss beneath them.

The action would’ve excited her, had she not felt his mouth open wide, much wider than necessary (enough to very nearly decapitate her in one chomp), and his predator teeth press harshly against her skin.

She made the mistake of gasping in alarm and shifting her legs.  His angry, answering snarl and the frighteningly demanding push of his whole, hard body against hers, knocked the air from her lungs and made her freeze. 

She had been _warned_ about this. 

Goblin mating rituals were vastly different than that of fairies.

They were not teasing.

They were not gentle.

They were _violent_.

They were _hazardous_. 

She’d seen the scars on Griselda and even Stuff’s back and neck. 

Goblin males and females would viciously bite and claw at each other during their passions.  The marks served as a sign of commitment; that only their chosen mate could touch them. 

But _she_ was _not_ a _goblin_. 

 _She_ was a _fairy_.

And though her gut reaction was to equally and enthusiastically give back everything Bog gave to _her_ , she could not escape the sad fact that the physiology nature had chosen for her, could not back her up.

There was no denying it.

Take away the staff and sword and physically, Bog was _bigger_ and _stronger_.

And right now, he was _dangerously_ close to hurting her beyond repair.

He could very easily _devour_ her, like the goblins of ancient times.

She knew this wasn’t his fault.  He couldn’t help it.  It was his instinct; part of who he was. 

She remembered the promise she’d made to him the first time they’d kissed in private:

If he looked like he was starting to lose control, she _had_ to lie perfectly still until he calmed down.  If she fought back...like a female goblin would…he _wouldn’t_ stop. 

For her own safety and his sanity, she swore.

And now, it had finally happened.

As she lay there, not moving a muscle, she began to realize something _vital_ : 

Bog’s frame was as rigid as ice, but…he was _trembling_.  His breathing was sharp and erratic in her ear and though his fangs were still firmly poised against her delicate flesh, he was not biting down. 

He was struggling against it.

He was _fighting_ to come back to his senses.

To come back to _her_.

A fresh wave of love for him rose up within her, bringing tears to her eyes and she knew what she had to do, even if she wasn’t sure if it would work.

She gambled.

“Bog?”

Her voice was small and strained, the pressure on her windpipe making it difficult to breathe. 

A deep rumble was her only reply and she felt it vibrate through her chest.

“It’s okay, Bog.  I know you’re scared…but we knew this wasn’t going to be easy.  That’s why we have to figure it out together.  One step at a time.”

He choked out a growl and tightened his punishing grip. 

She winced, but refused to let the pain stop her.  She _would_ help him.

“I _love_ you, Bog.  I will _never_ be afraid of you.  I’ll always be right here, beside you.  I _trust_ you.”

Bog uttered a whimpering groan, and after a few more moments of intense silence, he finally released her throat and wrists. 

She felt the sting and knew he’d drawn a little blood.  No doubt she’d also have bruises to rival the color of her wings come the morn. 

Panting fiercely, he pulled back, propping himself up over her on his hands.  His bright blue eyes were wide, glossy and contrite.  He was still shaking.

“M-M-Marianne,” he rasped in a broken whisper, “I…I’m s-so-!”

“Shh, shh.”  She said, pulling him back down on top of her so she could cradle his head to her breast.  “I know.  It’s alright.”

“I l-love ye s-so much, Marianne.”  He quietly sobbed against her.  “I w-would _n-never_ hurt ye.”

She kissed his brow and comfortingly stroked as much of his head, back and shoulders as she could reach.

The ball of his staff aiming for her skull on a stage, before an audience of terrified elves, was all in the past.  They’d been enemies then. 

Now they were lovers.

And all sparring hits were fair game.

But _this_ …

This would take time…

…practice…

…and in all likelihood, more similarly close calls…

“I know, Bog.  It’s okay now.  I’m fine; we’re _both_ fine.  Shh.  I’m here, I’m here.”

But they would win…

… _together_ …

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos and/or comments to let me know what you think!


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